July 20th:
Today my brother and I are going to my mother’s for a few days, to see her, her parents and my sister. While my sister stayed at my father’s place over the weekend, I haven’t seen my mother much since being back because of covid. My sister and I isolated together last week, but she recovered much quicker than me and was back to school within four days.
We wake up at 9 and pack our bags. My grandfather asks me if I want a mango and I can’t resist so say yes. I think it is a Neelam mango, that ripen towards the end of the season, cultivated in the states of Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu. We eat our mangoes off the skin, using our teeth to bite into the pulp. Often the nectar drips down the side of our wrists and arms, and then gets licked off; a perfect summer moment.
We get to our mother’s after an hour in traffic and have a quick breakfast: anda bhurji green chutney and paratha. Anda bhurji translates to scrambled eggs, but implies the addition of onion, green chilli, coriander and maybe some spices. I’ve perfected my own version of it, adding on cheese, tomato and a splash of ketchup. Sounds gross but tastes great, it’s in the Em–Dash Press egg zine (plug)!
My childhood friend visited today, and together we ate Pav Bhaji that my mother had made. A spiced-mashed-concoction of vegetables: potatoes-cauliflower-capsicum-brinjal-tomato-peas, served hot topped with a blob of butter, chopped onions and squeeze of lemon. Soft white rolls called pav are toasted in butter and are used to mop up the bhaji. I ate as much as I possibly could, and had to stretch out on the sofa afterwards.
My brother picked up my sister from her bus stop, and in the evening we all exchanged stories of the school we went to (that my sister goes to) over coffee. I like weak milky coffees because of my caffeine tolerance, and only tend to drink them out of necessity. My mother adds a tinge of cinnamon as she boils the coffee and milk over the stove.
Dinner was roti, palak paneer and boondi raita. All the special dishes are being made in my last two days at home. The language of love and care in my family is often shown through food as it’s never explicitly expressed. Before I left for university, I learnt certain dishes from every mother in my family- pulao from my mother, rajma from her mother, kaapa and khicidi from my father’s mother. These are staples in both the households, familiar in taste and preparation; collectively made hundreds of times by all of us.
Hi all I’m Ru (she/they), a designer and researcher based in South-East London. I’m part of Em–Dash Press, a small press that produces (amongst other things) a series of zines on our shared love of eggs. I’m also a part of à la carte, a collective that explores the relationship between food and care through a series of workshops. Find my instagram here.